Marigolds

On the day she died, he placed her into the ground. Overnight, under a blood moon, their hearts were both broken. The town talked, it was mysterious how she just disappeared. Just left, everything and everyone she had ever known. And how a mysterious marigold flower, that grew overnight, almost glowed as vibrant as the sun in the dead of dark grew year-round.

He went home, back to his pregnant wife. He climbed into their bed and lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. His wife turned in her sleep, content and peaceful. She didn’t know, his heart was broken. That he did what he had to do, to give her and their unborn child a life that they deserved. So he wept silently, and swore that he would never think about her again.

Years later, he met a young woman, only twenty years old. By then he had three kids who all off to college, and a marriage the was near shambles. As hard as he had tried, all these years, he could never forget her. His children and wife knew, all these years, that he was hiding something. There were times they would walk by flower in the grass, and he would become silent. Almost angry if they asked if something was wrong. But they never pushed. The few times they tried, he wouldn’t speak for a week, so they gave up trying all together. Instead, they all quietly agreed to pretend nothing was wrong, creating a gap between the man and his children.

His children eventually all graduated and left as soon as they could. Choosing to go to colleges as far away as they could. Because ever since they were little, something wasn’t quite right. There was always an eerie feeling around their father. Almost like he wasn’t ever alone, even when he was. His wife could sense it too.

Sometimes when she would try to be intimate with him, give him a kiss on the cheek, try to cuddle on the couch during a movie, strange things would happen. Like the time the television turned off, mid movie and she saw in its reflection a woman standing right behind them. When she turned to look, no one was there. She had looked at her husband and it seemed he was looking at the woman too, aware but not scared like she was.

This carried on for years, until one day in the beginning of spring, when he was at work. He stood at the counter of his family’s hardware store, when a beautiful young woman, with vibrant gold hair and honey colored eyes, walked into the store. She wore a yellow sundress, red lipstick, and had a smile that could stop any man in his tracks. He knew, because it stopped him.

She walked around the store, buying flower pots, soil, watering cans, and all kinds of flowers. He kept catching her stealing glances at him. She strolled to the counter and sighed. He looked at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I could use some help taking this back to my house and planting it. Do you know anyone available?” She looked at him, and almost as if her eyes had cast a spell, he said he could do it. Right now.

He closed to the store down and drove her home, pocketing his wedding ring when she wasn’t looking. He helped her plant the garden, talking to her and reveling in her soft laugh. She crouched near him to pull a weed and tumbled into his chest. She lay there and they laughed, until their eyes met. Then before he knew it, their lips. History started to repeat itself, twenty years later. And just like before, it started with a young woman in a sundress and smile that took his breathe away.

Spring was ending and summer was in mid swing. They spent every moment they could together. He was entranced and completely bewitched with her. He was in awe of her seemingly old soul and maturity. There were times when they were together, she would say something that didn’t make sense for someone her age. She would talk about certain subjects in way that he had only known one other person to. A person who he swore out of his mind. He would look at her and it would seem as if she her mind was anywhere but where they were. Then she would laugh and interlock his fingers with hers and the thought would pass.

“Wow, your garden is sure coming along.” Flowers of all varieties grew wildly and beautifully, just as he saw this young woman of his. But there was an area of the garden that he hated. It’s vibrancy and beauty was almost too much for him to bare.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” She would say, pulling his arm close to her. “They seem to really like you. They almost double in size and amount every time you come to visit.” She placed a small kiss on his arm.

“I’m not the biggest fan of marigolds.” He said one day, looking off into another direction. It felt like they were staring at him. It was crazy, he knew, but the marigolds, it felt like they were always watching him. A chill would crawl down his spine every time he was near them. That same day he had finally told her he was married and she sighed. She said she had a feeling that was the case. While she was sad, he assured her that he would work something out so they could keep seeing each other.

She plucked a marigold from its stem, admiring its petals. “Did you know marigolds represent feelings of passion-,” her eyes met his playfully, “creativity, prosperity…”

“Those all sound favorable.”

Her delicate fingers gently petting the petals. The corner of her mouth twitched and she smiled. She started to rip the petals off slowly, letting them fall to the earth. “They also represent sorrow, grief, and despair.” When all the petals were torn off, she tossed the empty flower head to the ground and crushed it under her heel. She took his hand and they walked away, not mentioning the flowers again.

Things seemed to be going perfect for him, at least for a while. He would spend almost all day with her then come home to his wife who would have dinner ready and was waiting for him. Most nights he didn’t even notice her puffy red eyes. He would simply kiss her cheek, eat dinner then go sit by the TV drinking a scotch. He didn’t even mind that his children never called home.

“Will you leave your wife? Because it’s starting to feel like I’m some sort of homewrecker.” She asked one day.

“Would like me to?”

“Only if you want to. But if you don’t, I’m afraid I might have to stop seeing you. I don’t like being this kind of woman.”

“I’ll leave her. I promise. It’s you I love you.” He would say, kissing her forehead. If he had known then, the power of those words, he never would have said them.

Summer was ending, and fall was about to arrive. Her garden was dying down. Weeks were passing by and he still didn’t have a plan to leave his wife. The young woman was becoming agitated. And still, her marigolds bloomed, overtaking the garden. Now, every time they were alone, she would again ask him about leaving his wife. “You promised,” she would say.

And he started getting angry. Even once, grabbing her wrist and squeezing it tightly. “That’s enough. I said I would and I will. So stop. Or I’ll end this.” She sobbed but quit asking for a few days. Until she didn’t.

She started calling their house nonstop in the night. She would spent hours walking around the store, both inside and out, waiting for him to get off work. She even went to his wife’s office one day at the bank, saying that she was delivering a bouquet of flowers from him. His wife was so happy when he got home, kissing his lips and thanking him. He smiled and looked at what he supposedly sent and his face fell. Anger coursed through his veins. And her words echoed in his head, “Marigolds represent sorrow, grief, and despair.”

He stopped talking to her for a month, which caused her to go even more crazy. He would go to work and marigolds would be down every aisle inside the store. One morning when he went to start his car, he was greeted by thousands of marigold petals, covering his entire lawn. His wife opened the window one morning and there, on the windowsill, was a marigold.

He went to her house. “You need stop. Leave my wife alone, leave my house alone, and leave me alone. I don’t want you anymore. I don’t want anything to do with you.” She collapsed at his knees, clinging to him, apologizing, saying that she loved him so much that she couldn’t control herself. He shoved her off and left.

It was silent over the next few months and winter had come. His children came back for Christmas vacation and for the first time in a long time, the house was full of warmth. On the day of the winter solstice, his family went to get groceries and last minute present shopping. He stayed home, choosing to enjoy the quiet house for a few hours. He showered, allowing the water to cleanse him of everything that year. He was truly happy.

What he found when he turned the water off and opened the shower curtain, chased those feelings away. A marigold, bright, vibrant and alive as ever, sitting on the sink counter, Along with a letter.

I understand. I get it. I see that you are happy and no longer love me. I will accept that. Your family is back so I won’t disturb. But I have one last request. I am leaving tonight. You’ll never see or hear from me again. Could you meet me? I’ll be near the edge of the park, between the two tall pine trees at 11 P.M. I just having something I want to say.

He grabbed a lighter and burned the letter. He wouldn’t go. Good riddance. He wouldn’t let his family suffer anymore. But as they day went on, and it became later and later, he found himself climbing into his car and headed to meet her. And he knew all too well, where he was going, somewhere he hadn’t been for twenty years. He arrived to see her standing there in the cold, wearing that same bright yellow sundress that had made him fall in love when he first saw her.

She noticed him as he approached her. “ I just wanted to say goodbye and I’m sorry for everything.” He nodded and there was a long pause before she spoke again, cautiously. “Could I have just one last kiss?”

He hesitated, but found himself pulling her in, feeling her cold lips against his. She wrapped her arms around him for one last hug. Then what happened next, he never would have guessed.

She whispered in his ear, “That marigold must be so lonely out here. It must truly feel despair, don’t you think?” She grabbed his chin and turned in the direction of the flower, that was alive and glowing in the dead of winter.

“Twenty years is a long time.” He turned to look at her but the face he saw was not his young lover, but the face of his lover from so many years ago. She plunged a knife into his heart and he collapsed on the ground. Red stained the snow. Fear frozen on his face.

They found him the next morning with two marigolds placed over his eyes. And the marigold that had grown mysteriously overnight, was never seen again.